


For This You Were Born

by FlaminiaK



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Animal Shifters, Animal Abuse, Blood and Gore, Cat!Natasha, Childhood, Digital Art, Dog!Clint, Dog!Steve, Erskine is a good grandpa, Genetic Engineering, Genetically Engineered Beings, Growing Up Together, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, M/M, Medical Experimentation, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pack Family, Wolf!Rumlow, cat!Loki, cat!Tony, dog!Thor, wolf!Bucky
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-07-19 04:27:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19968034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlaminiaK/pseuds/FlaminiaK
Summary: Are you a Dog-person? You’re in for a treat! Only the most stable genes are used for our Canis breeds, making them the perfect companions!Are you a Cat-person? We have the most beautiful Felis on this side of the pond! Complete with pedigree and manual of use, order your BioPet today!Hydra. Born to Succeed.When the saying "dog eat dog" is more than a metaphor and a company is more than the product they sell.Sit back, relax and enjoy the journey through blood, tears, laughs and love of two particular BioPets.[Story with illustrations]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Something Wild Calls You Home](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9312707) by [superheroresin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/superheroresin/pseuds/superheroresin). 



> _Currently searching for a Beta Reader!_

A chirpy, happy jingle erupted from the tv while a smiling octopus appeared on the screen.

> _“Do you feel alone? Your kids need a good guardian to ease wifey’s parenting job? Maybe your mother press for a baby but you don’t want a snot-nosed little devil making its business on the carpet?”_

A rumbly voice, confident and bubbly, spoke while grainy images made their way in front of his eyes.

Smiling children, smiling adults…

> _“From the research of Nobel Prize Arnim Zola, the new BioPets are here to take care of you!! Choose from an ample range of breeds and traits—”_

“Steve dear, please can you turn off the TV? We have to go.” an old man spoke with calmness and a hint of sweetness, eyes crinkled with a soft smile.

The Puppy didn’t move if not for his tail, too rapt by the images and the sounds.

His ears were well-trained on the tv, the floof almost glowing with the same echo of the screen’s light.

> _“Are you a Dog-person? You’re in for a treat! Only the most stable genes are used for our Canis breeds, making them the perfect companions! Are you a Cat-person? We have the most beautiful Felis on this side of the pond! Complete with pedigree and manual of use—”_

“Steve, did you hear me? Please turn off the Tv!” the old man spoke again, a little laugh trapped between the words. His head shook slightly.

In front of the screen, sitting on the carpet, there was his very own ‘BioPet’ Puppy, that had the resemblance of a little boy of roughly six years old. He had gold-blond hair and the clearest blue eyes one could see.

Steve had a bushy long tail that left hair everywhere and soft, plushy ears, flopped one against the other at the top of his head.

The boy was small and thin, but his smile was brighter than the sun. “Gwandpa look! They’re wike me!” he said pointing at the screen, where other BioPet Puppies played with human children and were hugged by happy mothers.

Doctor Erskine chuckled before taking the remote and shutting off the happy-go-lucky jingle of Hydra Corporation. “We have to go now! Come on, grab your coat.”. With that, the Puppy jumped up and ran towards the coat hanger, stretching his hands to try and unhook his leathery-like, miniature bomber.

As soon as Steve had the coat, he ran back to Erskine even faster, shoving the jacket into his hands. “Out! Out! Out!” the Puppy chimed as he ‘run on the spot’ while keeping his arms out.

Dressing up was always a difficult task for Steve, the leash tended to tangle with his tail and the harness was a pain to close on his back. “Yes, yes, we’re going out as soon as you stop moving…!” Erskine chuckled again. The man made sure to zip the front of the jacket up to Steve’s neck —“We don’t want to catch a cold again, don’t we?”— before passing the harness around his shoulders and chest, clipping it shut.

Then, the doctor took the leash in one hand and petted Steve’s head with the other.

For a moment, Abraham could almost envision the same little kid without the big, furry tail; fleshy, round ears at the sides of his head instead of the large floofs on the top of it. Able to go out and play without having the restraint dictated by the law.

He thought about the same little kid having his parents with him, instead of an old fool like him…

One, single needle prickled the back of Erskine’s throat and he had to blink fast a couple of times to hide away the tears that threatened to show.

Instead, he smiled down to the boy that was still making that little run, small shoes creaking on the fake wooden floor. “Ok, let’s go… remember, behave well.” Erskine opened the door.

Steve’s eyes were immediately outside, seconds before the rest of his body followed, skipping happily side by side with his grandpa.

Tail wagged with soft _wooshes_ and his ears jumped and careened at the top of his head, on one side then on the other.

His grandpa said that his ears will grow stronger and straighter as he became a ‘big boy’ and Steve couldn’t wait any longer.

☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★

The both of them walked for a bunch of minutes –Steve was still bad at counting time– all the while the little Puppy went from one side of the sidewalk to the other.

The road was full of vehicles as always, with their blue light under the hood and the rumbling of the motor scaring Steve every time one roared past. Trees lined every street, their pale bark shining silvery. Steve patted them with an outstretched arm while walking, feeling their cool and smooth surface under the pad of his fingers.

Grandpa had to snake among the few people walking the opposite direction to keep track of Steve’s movements, bubbling a chuckle from time time while the Puppy was exploring the street.

Steve had his nose up, small and round and cute, sniffing the air. Sifting through new and old smells, perfumes, foul odors, he recognized a bunch of already known ones.

A rich woman with her kids, enveloped in a thick cloud of spicy perfume.

One merchant taking out the trash, hurling it and its smelly content in a big container in the nearby alley.

Multitude of different BioPets, young and at the end of their lives, with their unique scents.

Steve smiled as he passed by a couple of Puppies like him, their genes clearly showing gentle breeds, curled tails and floppy ears. One in particular attracted Steve’s attention, for the way the Puppy tried to grab the attention of the handler. “Gwandpa, what’s that?” Steve pointed his finger and the BioPet –that resembled a little girl and smelled like cinnamon pastries– scooted near her owner, a tall woman with sharp manicured nails and cigarette in her other hand.

Erskine watched carefully, noticing the collar around the eight year old Puppy, and tried to cancel the frown on his face.

He never liked collars on BioPets, he never liked taking a living thing and transforming it into an object. “I think she has some Spaniel in her, dear.” at the explanation, Steve beamed with curiosity. His grandpa always knew a lot of things on BioPets.

Steve’s lips morphed into a little ‘o’, rosy and soft. He wanted to sink his fingers in the maroon curls of the girl’s hair and ears, wondering if they were as soft as they looked.

The little girl watched Steve with mild curiosity too, fear and shyness slowly fading from her face, but before she could make a step towards the blond Puppy, one of the women talking to her handler took her face in one hand. She squeezed the Puppy’s cheeks so much her lips puckered out and the woman squeeled in delight.

It took quite a few gently tugs from Erskine’s end of the leash to make Steve snap out of his curiosity and the man made him stop at the edge of the road while waiting for the walking-light to turn blue.

The Puppery was the place they had to go, on the other side.

It was a long building with glass doors and a lot of other Puppies inside.

Many of them were with their Handlers and were visiting for check-ups, new upgrades and medical attention.

Others, instead, were there for training lessons, especially Canis breeds.

Steve loved being there when he was in good health –rare thing, but still happened!– because he could just chuck aside his harness and run to the Playground while his grandpa spoke with his doctor.

They call him ‘veterinarian’ and he has a mean face full of wrinkles that look at him with barely contained intolerance.

Steve never knew why his doctor hated him, maybe because he was sick all the time and his grandpa didn’t want him to ‘go to sleep’ as the doctor said.

The golden-furred Puppy looked up to Erskine. Puppy-eyes in full effect, shining like the waves of the near sea. “Can I go to the kennels? Pweeeeaaaasee?” Steve grabbed at his grandpa’s shirt and tugged at it, making him laugh.

His grandpa had the best laughs. “I don’t know sweetheart, last time you caught a really bad cough and—” “pwweeeeeeaaaassseeeeeee.” the whine that came out of Steve’s throat made a couple of people turn, while their Puppies almost shrunk behind their owners’ legs.

Like he was shot, Erskine sank his head between the shoulders, before kneeling down to appease the over-active Puppy. Steve always had a god couple of lungs in him, but he never thought his whines would be so piercing. “Shhh dear, sh! We’re in a place where there are a lot of sick Puppies, you need to keep quiet.” the man explained with soft tones, one hand caressing the smaller’s head until his fluffy ears dropped at either sides of Steve’s golden tuft of hair.

Steve, with his tail still wagging, cleared his throat and put his hands behind the back, trying to stop himself from jumping but still managing to sway on the ball of his feet. “Can I go? Pwease? I weally wanna go.” voice now lowered down to a whisper, mouth moving slowly as if mimicking each and every words.

How could the man say no to such a cute request?

Erskine looked in those blue gems, remembering the same eyes in another visage begging him for more serious matters.

> _“Please take him, doctor. Please… I can’t… if they find him…!”_

It was six years before, but Abraham could still feel the same resolution as that evening. “Fine, fine…! But be careful ok? I’ll come pick you up later.”.

One kiss on the cheek later, Steve was sprinting away from the lobby, towards a couple of corridors that he knew by heart by now. Passed by some closed doors, under long windows and jumped over the odd-colored tile that he always hated.

Then the Puppy almost crashed in the peach-colored wall when he had to turn left, throwing all of his weight against the double-doors to enter the zone so called ‘The Kennels’.

Rows and rows of half-walls ran down the hallway, closed-off by silvery chain-link fences, voices and laughs and barks and whines of so much BioPets that mixed together in a loud cacophony. Steve’s ears flattened against his nape at first, eyes squinting for the sudden ringing in his head.

Walking more slowly down the corridor with the goal of reaching the ‘Playground’ zone at the end of it, something caught his attention.

A smell, particular and strong. Something that tasted like mornings of fresh snow and the damp bark of pine trees.

Steve licked his upper lip, almost tasting the pungent, refreshing resin. The Puppy followed the trail left mid-air, sniffing while his ears moved towards the chaos of the playground from time to time.

He reached a cage, with its door closed but unlocked and there. He leaned on one foot, hiding the rest of his body against the thick dividers and Steve laid eyes on another Puppy.

Older than him of a few years top, was sitting in a corner with knees to the chest, arms folded on them and face sinking against the forearms. He -at least Steve thought it was a he- had long dark hair and an even longer, bushy tail that was kept around his ankle. Fur white as snow, streaked with silver.

His ears were short and pointy, but the white fur was shaved off, showing raw, reddened skin on the outer edges. Black thread was knotted alongside those scars and Steve knew the wounds must be new.

The Puppy was shivering slightly in the simple black t-shirt and sweatpants that was wearing, his naked feet crossed one over the other, to keep them warm. “Hi…!” Steve called, moving slowly in front of the chain-link fence, opening the gate with a slow, whistly _creeeeeek_.

No movements from the other BioPet, if not for a slight flinch at the sound. “Uuhm, I’m Steve.” the blond continued, approaching the unknown BioPet with slow, tentative steps.

“Why are you awone? You can’t pway because your ears hurt? ‘twas the doctor? You don’t wike him too?” the questions bounced off the raven Puppy, falling then into the silence. Steve made a few more step, before a little growl came out of the other’s throat. High-pitched for being still a Puppy, but scared and angry nonetheless.

One step closer, one more growl.

One step backwards and the raspy sound stopped.

The mysterious Puppy didn’t want him near? Well, Steve was a stubborn Puppy, but not a stupid one.

So, with a little _oomph_ , the blond sat on the edge of the little arch around the other Puppy, crossing his legs and putting his palms on the ankles. Steve’s golden tail never stopped moving, passing from a full-on wag to a slow arch left and right. “Iss ok if you are scared, I’m scared too when I’m sick… and I’m sick aaaaall the time.” Steve chuckled.

He remained there in silence for what seemed hours, before finally the white-silver Pup started to flinch and move.

“Why ar’ya here.”

The raven-haired Puppy grumbled, face slightly rising from his forearms and Steve met his true-blue eyes with jade ones, so light that seemed almost gray.

“What?”

“Why are ya here… Whatcha want.”

If Steve’s eyebrows could disappear beyond his hairline, they could do that now. It was so strange to keep someone company when they were clearly hurting?

The Puppy wasn’t snarling at him nor showing his teeth, but his nose was wrinkled with annoyance and confusion.

Steve shrugged, tails moving a little faster and ears flopping when he tilted his head on one side. “Well, gwandpa sits awways near me when I visit the doctor because I’m scared, so—” “What’s a guaaanpa?” the other Puppy rose more his head, dark brows furrowed and ears now trembling, as if straining to remain still while wanting to move.

With a laugh, Steve inched even more to the Puppy, now tail wagging even more. “Sowwy iss difficult to speak som’times! Iss _grrrandpa_ and he’s the best in this world! He helps me wear my cwothes and makes food—” “so it’s your handler…?” “and reads me stowies when I’m scared. If he was here, he would read one for you too!” Steve chuckled, knees bouncing slightly still connecting at the ankles, like the wings of a butterfly.

“Ain’t scared.” another annoyed grumble came from the white Pup.

“Yeah you are!”

“Ain’t, stupid!”

“You’re all twembling and balled up.”

The white Puppy lowered his head again, this time only watching the safe space between his thighs and chest. “It’s my ears. I need to keep them from moving. They hurt.” he explained as if it could quench Steve’s thirst for answers.

That didn’t seem enough, though. “What happened to ‘em?” Steve started to scooch nearer now, pressing his palms down and lifting himself up and forward with a little hop.

A sigh, long and shaken, escaped the other Puppy. “Handler said they were wrong. Chopped off.” one hand finally moved from around the older Puppy’s knees, went up to slightly touch where the thread was secured, then ran back to hold himself still.

“Oh.”

Silence grew thicker for a few moments, while Steve was trying to comprehend why someone would cut off a Puppy’s ears. For a moment, the blond went up to grab his own fluffy ones, as if trying to remember he still had both of them.

Slowly, Steve went back at putting his palms on his ankles, arching his back in sadness. “I’m sowwy–… uhm…” the younger stumbled on his words, realizing that he didn’t know the other’s name.

“Uuuuhhm…”

“Buchanan.”

Steve’s ears perked up. “What?”

“Buchanan. It’s my name.” the other Puppy said, watching closely the golden-haired. The white Pup’s feet were rubbing over one another, the cement of the floor too cold against the naked soles.

Steve opened his mouth to try and say it, but closed it immediately, thinking on how to say it better.

“Buuuukenan?”

“Beeuh-kah-nan.”

“Buuunanan?”

“No! It’s not—” “Bananan!!” Steve laughed, jolting his head backwards and rising a small hand to slap it on the left side of his chest.

It was a strange laugh, almost whistling and full of happiness. It could be the laugh of a cherub for what the older could care.

Ears trembling again, the raven-haired started to chuckle. White fluffy tail jumping slightly off the ground.

He never felt something like that before: warmth from the inside, a ticklish sensation in his tummy. The sensation of being able to breathe and think and see more clearly. “You’re the yellow one!!” the older said and Steve wheezed a little, before trying to speak again. “You’re the one with a stwange name! Iss normal being confwused!” chortled.

Thoughtful, the blond continued to tilt from one side to the other, emitting some _mmhhh_ from time to time. “Buuuuch… Buck… Bucky! Iss nice wike this, see?” Steve smiled now, watching how ‘Bucky’ was looking him strangely.

Slowly, Bucky uncurled from his position and huffed a little. “That ain’t a Dog’s name… I feel lik’a deer now.” the raven lamented, shaking his head carefully. “But…it’s… fine. I guess.” at last said, tail _wooshing_ behind him in a half-hearted wag.

“Hi Steve, I’m Bucky.”


	2. Chapter 2

Being confused was Buchanan's most present mood, since he met Steve.

He was confused about how that little nickname sounded in the other's mouth. How personal it felt on the skin, soothing like a warm blanket in the heart of winter. Being 'Bucky' was good, felt good and sounded good, but only if Steve called him that.

Steve called him that for three years now, every time with his special inflection. His words growing strong on his tongue and the tone ever changing.

The cheerful, surprised “Bucky!!” of when he came into the Puppery, running to hug him.

The stretched, whiny growl “Bucky~!” of when Buchanan couldn’t stop himself from teasing out his peppery anger.

The soft, soul-crushing “Bucky…” of when Steve was sad, ears flopped down and tail tuck between his legs.

Buchanan was confused about Steve himself, how such a small Puppy could have so much energy and happiness enclosed inside. If he ever felt that amount of happiness in only one day, Buchanan thought he would surely explode.

Steve had the golden rays of Heaven rebounding inside his heart, always yapping away about his Grandpa —how he would like for them to meet— and about the special, strange bagels that the man would bake for him.

Steve told Buchanan that they were really sweet, with always a different filling each time. "But sweets are bad for us…" Buchanan wanted to lament, remembering the rules set by his handler. But Steve only chuckled at him. "Whoever said that is a dummy!" the blond responded.

Buchanan was confused some other day later, when Steve brought two of the famed bagels, only for Buchanan to discover they were really strange: without a hole in the middle, they were coated with a thick crust of sugar. Their empty insides filled with a velvety cream made of eggs, milk, more sugar and butter. "Try it out!" Steve had pushed one in his hands. Buchanan sniffed it long and hard, trying to identify everything inside the sugary bun, before going for a small bite.

His taste buds exploded right then and there, bathed in the cream and the soft, fried dough and the grainy sugar. It all mixed together when saliva flooded Buchanan’s little but ravenous mouth.

It was such a pleasure that his jaw started to hurt, while the fluffy white tail flew through the air in the most vigorous wag he ever did.

Buchanan devoured the bagel, inhaled it even, while cream smeared at the sides of his lips and on the tip of his nose. Steve laughed, laughed with his heart in his throat, wheezing in his particular way at the end of each lungful of air. “Told ya they were good.” the golden Pup said as he ate his own sweet bagel, strawberry jam reddening his lips.

Later at the training, Buchanan was faster and sharper than usual, his eyes flying around to each of his targets, while his handler complimented him —rare thing, that was—.

Who ever imagined that sugar rushes were not destructive as handlers thought?

Buchanan then was confused when, one day, Steve didn’t show up at their usual place in the Playground.

Steve always popped out of the door, running and jumping him to initiate their day of games and chases, but not that day.

That was the day when Buchanan discovered what worry felt like. A worm, small and almost invisible, that started to eat away its road inside the white Pup’s heart and mind.

The worm grew bigger by the second, making squelching noises in his brain and setting a heavy weight on each and every nerve of his body.

In eleven years of his life, Buchanan never felt the caving _need_ to shift and run, run, run until he found Steve.

At last he didn’t shift, but the white Pup stalked away from the eyes of his handler and ran away from the Playground. _Chaff-chaff-chaff-chaff_ went his naked feet on the ground, the padded sole hitting the concrete with the ease of training and the quickness that concern gifted him.

Buchanan almost slammed his body against the walls at every corner of the hallway, breath coming in and out in big gulps. In from the nose, searching among the multitude of smells. Out from the mouth, panting and whistling against his sharp canines.

Where was Steve? Why didn’t he came like he always did? Steve said he would be there that day, because Bucky _promised_ he would teach Steve how to howl long and dark and deep, instead of his squeaky attempts.

Buchanan stopped just in time to not crash into the last pair of double-doors and opened them, letting his jade eyes zap from one side of the main hall to the other.

Canis of every breed and age, but never the right one. Blond Puppies with never the right shade of gold, blue eyes that didn’t have the sea nor the sky in them.

Worry started to squeal at the back of his mind, the labyrinthine path it ate away now starting to tremble and crumble. Those tumbling tracks resonated with panic along Buchanan’s spine, yanking a mute whimper out of his throat.

Hands clawing at the neck of his loose shirt, Buchanan scanned again the room, making a couple of steps deeper in it.

_Where’s Steve? Something happened, something happened, Steve would never…!_

Another sniff and his brain sparkled. Wave after wave of relief, Buchanan took in another whiff and there it was: the warm smell of summer in the countryside, the earthy scent of hay and sunflowers with the fresh hint of a lake, somewhere in it.

_Steve._

Buchanan followed the trail with a new, determined wag of his tail, perking his short ears forward to catch every noise that could explain where the hell Steve went.

“I already told you, doctor, I don’t plan on doing it.”

The voice was somewhat old, but gentle and firm at the same time.

Buchanan followed the voice and noticed that the more Steve’s scent became stronger, the more he could hear two man talking to each other.

Slowly, the white Pup stalked the new corridor he found himself into. Three doors down from where he was standing, there was one left ajar, a blade of light dividing the shaded hallway. “It’s just a loss of money and time. I think you should just put him down and call Hydra to make a replacement. There’s a ten years warranty, I believe.” the veterinarian said.

Buchanan curled his upper lip up, showing instinctively his teeth at the voice.

He hated the veterinarian.

He was the one that cut his ears and he was the one that always told his handler to limit his caloric intake. “He got the genes of pretty big canines. If you want him to be somewhat useful, just chuck some plain chicken at him every day, lunch and dinner.” and from that day Buchanan hated chicken too.

Letting his feet move lighter now, Buchanan approached the door, ears trembling in the strain of trying to hear more.

There were six little beds in the room, soft-looking and with the whitest linen sheets Buchanan ever saw. They were covered by a shell of hard, transparent plastic, with one hole where handlers could slide their hands inside a thick rubber glove. “Thank you for your concern, doctor Phillips, but no.” the other man spoke with a straighter back and the veterinarian just huffed.

Jade eyes saw him leave the room, passing through a door that had a ‘medical staff only’ sign on it, leaving the gray-haired man in the room, alone.

Not alone, Buchanan noticed, when he saw the tip of a golden tail slowly rise from the bed behind the man, flopping down tiredly.

Steve.

The white Puppy bit down on his lower lip, trying to stretch his neck far enough to see, to watch what they did to Steve.

Only one look. One brief, little, quick look…!

And then Steve coughed violently, a honking sound vibrating harshly inside his throat.

And then Buchanan jerked in surprise, pushing the door more open of a couple of inches.

And then the hinges wailed, attracting the gray-haired man’s gaze on the little white Pup.

Buchanan froze on the spot, watching chocolate eyes behind round glasses. For a moment he thought about fleeing the scene, hoping that the man wouldn’t snitch about him to his handler.

But then the gray-haired man made a little smile, soft but full of sadness. “Steven, sweetheart. There’s someone that came to visit.” the man whispered as he turned towards the bed. A little, raspy whine erupted in the stillness of the air, barely a whisper.

“Bucky…?”.

It yanked at Buchanan’s soul, the frailty of that voice, and shattered his heart in pieces so little it created a cloud of dust in his chest.

He heard Steve wheeze and cough before, but never he heard his voice so devoid of the usual happiness that _was_ Steve, that embodied his entire being.

Buchanan slowly made a couple of steps forward, pushing the door more open before standing there, feet away from Steve and what appeared to be his fabled ‘Grandpa’. Studying him, the Puppy discovered the man to hold a bittersweet gentleness in him, like remembering a scent that was no more.

Like the last time he felt his mother’s hug.

Like remembering the taste of all the food he can’t eat anymore.

Steve’s Grandpa was sweet melancholy in human form, in front of him, and Buchanan understood why Steve’s loved him. “Come near, don’t worry.” the man spoke softly, as if he feared a lot of things.

To disturb Steve. To make Buchanan run away. To succumb to tears if he spoke a little more louder.

Buchanan sniffed the air one last time —making sure that was the right Steve and not some other BioPet— and then approached the bed, watching beyond the clear dome.

It was the worst image he could ever lay his eyes upon, the sickly bundle underneath the covers: Steve was slick with sweat, trembling and eyes barely held open by a slit.

There, sky and sea that Buchanan liked so much, were peaking through rows of gold lashes, soft and long like ripe wheat. Glistening with held tears or maybe glassed over by fever, Buchanan didn’t know. “What… happened to him? Sir…?” the white Pup asked with a thread of voice, walking up to the plastic shell, putting both his palms on the dome.

Steve had his warmest sweater on, together with thick sweatpants, but Buchanan felt like they were falling wrong on him. Laying on his body as if there were only bones beneath. As if his clothes where a soft exoskeleton that would crumble to sand at any giving moment.

Too slim, Buchanan though with a hitch of panic. Too slim and frail. Steve hadn’t been eating?

“Steven has caught kennel cough. It wouldn’t be a big problem but he… well, Steven is a little weaker than others…” Steve’s Grandpa spoke softly, sitting on the only available chair, slotting his arm inside the dark rubber glove. Buchanan watched how the man moved his hand slowly, with gentleness, to brush away the golden locks that got stuck on Steve’s forehead.

Weaker.

That was a word that was thrown a lot against Steve in those three years at the Puppery and Bucky fought every Pet that dared to call Steve that —because Steve was bright and funny and brave and surely NOT weak— but in that moment, it was not an insult.

It was uttered like the sad truth it was.

Steve’s body was feeble, always bound to some kind of disease that the blond fought off with everything he had.

Every time Steve won, but a thought emerged from the thick drapes of worry that enveloped Buchanan’s mind: what if Steve _lost_?

What if Steve couldn’t snap out of the next flu? What if he lost Steve to a damn cough?

Body held tight by the dread of that option, Buchanan trembled, oh how much he vibrated with both fear and anger.

Anger at destiny, at Life herself, to make him meet somebody so sunny and kind and _Steve_ only to torn him away from underneath his hands.

Hands that were pressing harder on the transparent plastic, pushing his padded palms against it like Buchanan could prevent Steve’s soul to fly away from him. Keeping it trapped and safe and alive, there.

“Hi Bucky…” Steve’s hoarse voice spoke, tired and a little slow, the letter B of his name almost an insuperable obstacle.

“Hi Stevie.” Buchanan replied, with his own low voice, sadness leashed away to prevent Steve to hear how much scared he was. The blond didn’t need to be remembered of his sorry state.

Steve started to shift underneath the cover, slowly and painfully thrashing with his face scrunched up. “Hurts…” the blond lamented in a little whine, ears abandoned on the pillow like the two fluffy triangles they were.

Buchanan watched up to Steve’s Grandpa for more information about this disease, instead the man sighed at the complaint. “I know sweetheart, you are going to be alright.” Erskine whispered, his gloved hand now wrapping around Steve’s left.

To the white Puppy, it seemed like forever, before the man could speak again. “His grow spurts are hitting him really bad, lately… and the fever is making his joints flame up even more.” Steve’s Grandpa explained and Buchanan nodded just once, even if he was still confused.

Confused about it, about how could a nine-year-old suffer from such heavy and hard grow spurts.

Steve was so small, so delicate… never thought his body could be also so eager to start growing, at such disheartening price.

Leaning over, he pressed his forehead against the cold plastic and closed his eyes, praying to whatever was in the sky and underneath the earth.

Don’t take him away.

Please don’t take him away.

Please, please, please.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I know that those aren't bagels, but give the pooch some slack, he's a sweet naive boi_
> 
> Every kudos and comment give me oxygen <3


	3. Chapter 3

It took him five days and a half, before the fever finally started to subside.

For Steve, it was a constant in-and-out of consciousness, his eyes barely opening and seeing blobs of colors, through bleary pupils. The bigger one was his Grandpa, sitting at his usual chair like a guardian angel.

The smaller blob never stopped moving around: near his Grandpa —very rarely—, at the feet of his bed, sitting on the nightstand. The favorite place of the smaller blob was, though, near the headboard with small hands pressing on the dome Steve hated so much.

Every time it happened, Steve fought the burning sensation inside his body and forced one arm to rise, putting his own palm on the other side of the plastic.

That small blob was Bucky, Steve recognized him from the stark contrast of dark hair and light fur of his tail and ears.

If he could take a good sniff of the air around him, Steve knew he would feel in his nose the sharp and liberating scent of the Puppy that became his best friend. A pine grove covered in snow, the stinging tang of resin, pure and chilly air of the morning sky.

Amber. Dark green. White. Light blue.

An array of colors that Steve would love to pin down on a piece of paper with his best colored pencils.

☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★

At the dawn of the sixth day, Steve finally managed to fully open his eyes.

He looked around, coughing lightly and turning his head as he let his sea-blue eyes roam around the room.

The windows were closed-off by blinds, the sun shying out of the horizon, letting the soft and feeble light pool on the floor and scarce furniture in long, thin stripes. The other beds in the ward were empty, leaving Steve feeling the empty ache of loneliness in his chest.

Pressing an elbow against the mattress for support, Steve rolled on his back first, watching the blades of the ceiling fan moving sluggishly. They were rotating clockwise, emitting a little thrum every time one of the slightly bent blades was pointing towards the windows.

It made him nauseous, the spiral that never stopped turning.

Steve then rolled on his other side with a tired sigh. He was tired of feeling pain everywhere, every time he moved; it all started a week before, when the little golden Pup woke up and felt as if two big hands were stretching his entire body.

It got worse and worse, so much that his Grandpa took him at the Puppery for a check-up.

But Steve so wanted to go home, be in his bedroom full of scents that sang _you’re safe_ to him, and when he grabbed the rubber glove in his small hands Steve had all the intentions to complain to his Grandpa about it.

There was no Grandpa there.

The glove was empty, a rubbery shell that collapsed under his palms before popping up to its original form. “Uh…?” Steve grumbled confusedly, eyebrows furrowing.

Grandpa was always there with him, where was he? Maybe in the bathroom? Or talking with the always-mad doctor?

The golden Pup almost let out a whine from the back of his throat, the way he always called his Grandpa when he was scared or alone, but Steve closed his mouth shut with a soft click of teeth.

There, on the only chair near the bed, Bucky was sleeping soundly. Curled up in a really tight ball, with his hands tucked underneath his chin and tail that encompassed his folded legs like a blanket. Ears finally relaxed, pointing forward in their modified, slim-and-pointy shape.

Bucky’s face was relaxed, eyelashes dark against his pale skin, soft and smooth. His hair a little frizzled on his head, strands of them laying on his right cheek and the white-silver fur made them seem almost salt-and-pepper where his ears connected with his scalp.

He remained there, Steve thought shocked. He remained to watch over him while his Grandpa wasn’t there for a lot of reasons that Steve wasn’t understanding yet.

A small, tired smile crept up on the younger’s mouth, eyes squinting a little. His little chest felt tight with the good pressure of happiness, the pain in his joints almost forgotten in the high of joy.

Relief.

Relief that his friend —only friend— didn’t replace him with some other Pet, because being friend with a sickly little thing was boring.

After almost a week, his tail began to waggle again in little _thumps_ against the mattress and his ears drooped down at either side of his head. His face hurt for how much he smiled.

Thump-thump-thump.

Thumpthumpthumpthump.

That was the sound Bucky woke up to. His Steve was bright again and everything was better. “Stevie…!” breathed the white Puppy, glad and sleepy.

“Hi Bucky…” replied the still hoarse, but livelier voice of Steve.

Steve never thought he would see Bucky’s tail wiggle so much that his entire butt began shaking too, but apparently Bucky was a lot of his firsts.

☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★

At day eight, Steve managed to sit up slightly higher, shoulders against the pillow and thick-furred ears that scraped at the dome plastic. “I feel better, can I come out of here?” the whine was long and stretched, but its only result was making his Grandpa laugh again.

It wasn’t what Steve wanted, but he settled for that. “Steven.” the older man said like a warning, trying to mask away the smile from his lips. “The doctor said two weeks minimum–” “Well that doctor’s dumb…” Steve huffed, crossing his arms on his chest.

Erskine smiled more, seeing the little blond boy poking his lower lip outwards, in a very dramatic pout. “Humpf… where’s Bucky?” the Puppy asked and his Grandpa chuckled again.

Bucky, that name was in Steve’s mouth a lot. Erskine had been curious who this ‘Bucky’ was, until the white Puppy managed to sneak into the Infectious Diseases ward eight days before. Military commissioned, seeing by the clothes he was wearing and the cropped ears —Erskine cringed when he first saw them, feeling his heart grow smaller and heavier in his chest—, but really well-behaved and almost introvert at first.

The old man was even more surprised when, as day passed, the Puppy entered the ward and shuffled immediately near Steve’s bed, tail always tucked between his legs and ears dropped with sadness, but bolder and really protective.

“Bucky is at his training, Steve. He’ll be here soo–” Abraham didn’t even manage to continue the phrase that the door burst open and said Puppy ran inside with heavy breath and scrambled hair. “I’m so so so sorry I’m late…!” he wheezed, reaching the plastic dome with both his hands.

Erskine saw the plastic fog up a little around Bucky’s palms, matching the heated appearance and his frazzled expression.

“Buchanan, calm down boy.” another voice spoke, severe but good-tempered, came from the door and immediately Bucky’s excited tremors stopped, as if someone turned a switch off. “Sir, yessir.” the white Puppy replied, ears flicking back for a brief moment before relaxing again.

The man at the door was tall, with a heavy-set physique, large shoulders and thick legs, but his face was sporting big grey mustaches together with faint lines of age. He was wearing some sort of uniform, dusty-green with golden accents and a little embroidered tag on his chest; Barnes G. was sewn on it with black thread.

Steve shrank in his bed, grabbing instinctively the sheets and holding them to his chest, while his ears drooped down again, this time in fear.

“Good day, Sergeant.” Erskine said while standing up from his chair, a calm smile on his face while the rest of his body tried to hide Steve’s presence in the bed.

The man walked inside, a slight limp in his steps, but his back remained straight. “Good day to you, sir.” Barnes G. spoke now, the upturned corner of his mouth sinking in his mustaches. “I’ve been asking myself where Buchanan was always slinking away after his training…” Grey eyes watched Erskine, then behind him, where a fluffy golden tail was thumping on the mattress.

A chuckle and Abraham relaxed his stance a little more, realizing that the man wasn’t one of _those_ handlers. Sure he was an army man, up in the ranks even, but seemed to care about little Bucky as much as Erskine cared for Steve.

“Never thought my boy would find a friend so soon.” came the cheerful joke and both handlers laughed breathy laughs, symptoms of soft hearts and warm feeling.

Erskine sidestepped, then, trusting the man in front of him “I’m dr. Abraham Erskine, Sergeant, and this little troublemaker is Steve.” Sergeant Barnes walked up to the bed, watching the golden Puppy shrink away a little more, pressing against the dome right up where Bucky was standing.

Tense silence fell for a moment, where Bucky was torn between obey his handler and protect the sickly Puppy in the bed, but then the taller man spoke with a delicate tone. “Hi boy. Don’t be scared, I won’t do anything to you. My name is George Barnes.” another smile, amicable and easy, was drawn underneath those thick mustaches.

Steve thought they were similar to Bucky’s fur, white and silvers, and that, maybe, helped him uncoil from the fear he was feeling. “You’re… Bucky’s Grandpa?” Steve’s voice came out whiney and subdued, tail curling between his legs, but ears perking up in the curiosity of knowing the answer to the question.

Answer that came in form of a laughter. A warm and chummy sound, a little raspy on the edges, but a good one. “Well, you could say I’m more of an uncle!” he joked, making Erskine chuckle beside him. “Bucky…?” George said then, watching the white Puppy sink his head between the shoulders, face red with embarrass.

Steve relaxed even more, while the two handlers started to talk to each other, asking about jobs and their Puppies, and the golden Pup turned to watch Bucky try to hide his blushed cheeks rubbing on them. “Your Uncle is funny.” said finally. Bucky didn’t have the heart to tell Steve the Sergeant wasn’t an Uncle —Bucky didn’t even know what an Uncle was— so he just stood there, hands slowly dragging down on the dome.

He asked the blond Puppy how he felt, if he was breathing right, when he will finally come out and play and train with him. “Train? Like the one that takes you from one place to the other?” Steve asked, tilting his head, fluffy ears managing to stay more upright than the usual.

Bucky chuffed a small chortle. “No, dummy! Training… like learning how to shift and make long jumps and bite bad guys.” Steve’s true-blue eyes shone at the description, licking his lips when the interest grew bigger and bigger. “I could do all that stuff too?” breathed the golden Pup, Bucky nodding almost solemnly. “I can already shift, y’know?” continued the white Pup, grinning now.

His tail started wagging again, ears perked up and chest out. Steve noticed that Bucky slightly bent his head back, jade eyes lidded with pride. “I’m the only one that can shift, in my class! And the others are all bigger than me, so that means something!” Bucky’s grin widened.

Shifting. Steve never thought about it before, even if his Grandpa spoke to him about the abilities other BioPets have. “Will you teach me?” the golden Pup asked, bashfully.

Bucky shone even brighter.

“That’s a given, you dumb-butt!”

“Buchanan, language.”

“Y-yessir…”

☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★

Steve was barely managing to stay in his own skin when, two months later, he could return safely in the Kennels and then at the Playground.

Bucky was waiting for him at the usual spot and when Steve barged in, the white Pup wriggled only the tip of his tail, trying to hide a bigger wag to the others. “You kept me waiting, dontcha?” Bucky grinned, before Steve could jump him and hug his sides.

Hard.

Not hard to leave bruises, but hard nonetheless. “Hnf! You got stronger?” Bucky comically wheezed, making Steve laugh and straighten up. “And… taller?” “Just a smidge, Grandpa said the pain I felt were the grow spurts.” Steve reassured his friend, that was now checking him out.

Sure, Bucky was still the taller of the two, but the height difference between them passed from being a whole head to be around four inches.

Also, the white Pup noticed that Steve’s body started to loose the softness of childhood, legs and arms stretching into lanky limbs. “But you’re fine now?” Bucky asked, worried.

Never again, he would never again watch Steve suffer that much. Not if he could stop it. “I think so…? My Grandpa didn’t say a lot, just that it was the grow spurt.” Steve shrugged with only one shoulder. “If I stopped feeling bad, means it stopped…” and with that, Bucky left out a hidden sigh of relief.

Only to be crowded again by Steve, that now watched at him with bright, large eyes full of stars and wanton. “W-what?” Bucky blushed slightly, feeling Steve’s body a little to close for comfort.

In those two months, Bucky too experimented strange things in his body; for a couple of days he felt his head hot and stuffy, but it went away before his handler could call the veterinarian.

Then, days later, Bucky felt angry at everything —even at Steve, for not being there and cheering him up— before isolating himself at his own Kennel and cry himself to sleep.

Now, the press of Steve’s chest against his was giving him a strange, tingly sensation that made him giggle. Like an internal tickle. “I can’t believe you forgot! You promised me to teach me!” Steve whimpered, a smile still on his face.

Bucky remained silent, face blank and head turned on one side.

“Buckyyyy~!” Steve complained in his little, high-pitched, sing-song whine. The white Pup laughed at that pinched face, giving him a playful push.

“I’m pulling your tail, Stevie! O’course I’ll teach ya shifting!”

Thank God for his innate skill of bullshitting, because he could see those sea-blue eyes glassing over already with tears of betrayal.

How could he forgot? Maybe was because Steve’s scent was stronger than the usual?

Bucky felt like he was swimming in the field of sunflowers and hay that was Steve, warmth gripping his stomach slowly, but surely.

Steve now pouted, arms crossing on his chest and cheeks puffing up, but at another shove from Bucky, the golden Puppy just chuckled and replied it with a slap on the other’s shoulder. “Ok, then. First things first! Follow me.”.

And Steve followed.

They walked outside the Playground, outside the Kennels and into the long hallways. Instead of turning left towards the main hall, Bucky made a right, then a left and a right again, taking the blond Pup in the bowels of the Puppery. The walls lost their cheerful drawings and the pastel colors, showing now crude plaster and steel panels.

Bucky opened a door and held it open for Steve, jerking his head towards the newly discovered room.

Steve entered, ears slightly lowered and tail pointing the ground, and sniffed the air cautiously; the were a lot of different scents, all heavy and sharp, but Bucky sauntered inside as if he owned the place. “This is my Kennel. I sleep there.” the white Puppy pointed at a wall of sectioned zones, all divided by chain-link fences and doors left ajar.

Steve propped his ears up and pointed forward, tilting his head left then right, a little furrow forming between his eyebrows. “You sleep here?” asked.

Bucky blinked.

Didn’t he just… said that? “Yeah.” Steve again tilted his head, utterly confused. “But you don’t go home with your Uncle?” again the blond inquired and Bucky’s eyes grew bigger by the second. “Uhhhhhhm—”“Don’t tell me that you stay here all day and night alone??” Steve seemed shocked and, strangely, concerned.

Again, Bucky couldn’t see the problem. “It’s my Kennel…?” “There’s no one to cheer you up if you do a bad dream in the night? Or-or-or if you miss your Uncle or if you’re hungry??” Steve turned and grabbed Bucky’s hands, squeezing them like his friend was going to disappear in front of his eyes.

Their padded fingers braided together for a moment and the white Pup looked down, watching the harsh yet balanced difference of his charcoal pads brushing against the fire-brick ones of Steve.

Something small, like a fly, appeared in Bucky’s stomach.

It was an odd sensation, at the same time the Puppy discovered himself holding Steve’s hands tighter.

Bucky opened his lips to reply something witty, maybe brushing the fact aside —after all that WAS his Kennel, handler Schmidt told him so— but there was that whimper from deep inside Steve’s chest, something that was a mix of anger and worry and fear.

A sound the white Puppy couldn’t ignore. “This is my home, Stevie. I’m fine, I don’t have nightmares or things like that.” Bucky smiled softly. “And now is empty because the others are at the Playground, but at night here there are even too many Canines, ok?”.

Steve didn’t seem happy about it, still, but Bucky chuckled and rose one hand, ruffling the smaller’s golden hair, before gently pulling one of his big, fluffy ears.

Again, the tingle inside his chest sparkled. Bucky noticed he could love Steve’s apprehension towards him… just a little. “Now c’mon, I stole a couple of collars so I could teach ya! Don’t be fussy…!”.

Maybe focusing on that little mission of theirs, Bucky could forget the little hummingbird fluttering around in his tummy.


	4. Chapter 4

It took Steve three times before he could snap the collar's ends together on the back of his neck.

Bucky chuckled during all of his ordeal, declaring that ‘he needs to learn to be on his own sooner or later’, but at the soft _click_ of the hook in the ring, Steve felt a sense of utter accomplishment… until Bucky started to speak about shifting.

At first he only explained how to _feel_ the change in him. The tug in the stomach and the ticklish of skin. How his face would hurt because it had to stretch, but that it would pass soon. How he would start to hear so much better, but that his eyes would become blurry for a little while. How he would smell _everything_ , so much his nose wouldn’t differentiate good from bad for at least a couple of minutes.

Shifting was a big change, his little body unaccustomed to it yet.

Bucky continued talking, about how the collar around their neck actually triggered an instinctual response. "You focus on the collar." he said "The way it presses on your nape. It should make you, like, relaxed. The pressure on the back of the neck, I mean." Steve knitted his eyebrows together, not feeling what Bucky was trying to tell him: why should him feel relaxed with something against his neck?

Sure his Grandpa always petted the back of his head when Steve was sick or when he did something good, but the blond Pup didn’t feel the collar different from all the other times he had something around his neck.

Like, for example, his favorite sweatshirt. "Our teacher said it's because we are born in our shifted state and our Ma is shifted too and she takes us everywhere by our scruff." Bucky had the tendency to gesticulate when talking, moving his hands in large arches that Steve watched attentively.

That was pretty logical, Steve thought, and the realization came suddenly to him.

"What is a Ma?"

His voice was subdued, a whisper of pure embarrassment.

A little whine came from the white Pup, ears down in sadness. “You don’t know…? You didn’t live with your Ma when you were little…” a small chuckle. “Little-er.”

“I’m not little…!”

“Yarrright, ya’smoll.”

Steve pouted, crossing his arms and flattening his big, floofy ears against his head and Bucky just chuckled again, moving his hand to ruffle golden strands, honey and wheat weaving together. “Lemme explain, Stevie. A Ma is like your Grandpa, but… better. She can shift as same as you ok?” the raven then sat down on the cement of the little space in the kennel, watching his smaller friend mirror him.

Steve taylor-style, Bucky with stretched-out legs. Brick-red pads pressing together on one side, black ones well in sight on the other. “And when you’re just born you ain’t see nothin’ and so she grabs you on the back of your back with her teeth–” Bucky stopped talking when Steve gasped.

Tiny hands raced up to rosy lips, now open in shock. “Grandpa would never hurt me like that!” Steve exclaimed, making Bucky laugh. “It doesn’t hurt, ya dummy! Our Ma would never hurt us. It’s a way to keep us close.” a sigh followed Bucky’s words.

"That means I'll never be able to shift… I never had a Ma…".

Bucky opened his mouth then closed it again, thinking about what to say. "Oh…" he breathed at last. "Well… That means we'll have to find another way." the white pup shrugged, his face still adorned by a smile.

The next step into teaching Steve how to shift involved, well, shifting.

Bucky put on his collar, black with short conical studs, and after taking a couple of steps back from his friend, the white pup focused on the reassuring weight around his neck.

Memories of his mother, a wonderful grey-silver Wolf, flooded his mind; her warm, honey colored eyes full of creativity and strength.

Her voice humming low soothing him when he couldn't sleep, the constant rumbling on the floor above their kennel keeping him up.

Her big, sinewy body that curled up in a ball of love and warmth around him.

Before Steve's eyes, Bucky slowly hunched forward and changed.

It was slow and chaotic, without a precise pattern.

His face elongated, ears folded back and new teeth forming into his mouth. They bloomed from the rosy gums like budding seeds, white and strong and shiny.

His nose became black and porous, twitching and folding back to show new canines, a longer and flatter tongue.

One hand started to shorten into a big paw while the other only was covered in white fur, thumb disappearing and fingertips starting to coil on the ground, to sustain Bucky’s new body.

Steve watched between wonder and curiosity, seeing his friend falling on his hands-now-paws while his thighs became haunches in the baggy trousers he always wore. The long, bright tail now sprouting from a furry, canine backside.

Shoulders rolled when waves and waves of white fur came out of his skin, streaked in grey-silver, and it puffed around the neck, hiding the powerful neck.

It took Bucky one full minute to shift, becoming a white-maned canine with black tinting his muzzle and the fur around his eyes.

It was like he wore a mask, Steve thought.

Even if he was still visibly in puppyhood, Bucky had a strong body, long and agile like his mother, with the squared muzzle and jaw of his Cane Corso father.

Long, thick fur covered his body, sign of Wolf genetic code. "It's sooooo cool!" Steve chirped and Bucky immediately wagged his tail. "Thanks!" the canine barked, surprising Steve so much he almost tumbled back. "You can talk in this form??" the blond pup exclaimed, making Bucky chuff a laugh.

"Only other BioPets understand, humans hears barks only. I think it’s like using another language." the white pup continued, before sitting on his haunches, puffing his chest a little.

Steve inched forward, rising one hand mid-air. “Can I touch?” the golden Pup asked, watching how Bucky’s tail swished again. “Sure, I don’t bite.” the joke fell flat between them, Steve too focused to really soak in his words.

So, inch by inch, Steve approached the –still clothed– BioPet, moving his palm to rest in the space between Bucky’s shoulder and neck.

He was big, really big for being a normal dog or a wolf; sitting down like that, with relaxed shoulders and thumping tail on the ground, Bucky was tall four feet nine from floor to ears, towering above poor four feet two Steve. "You're so big…!" the blond whispered, making his fingers sink in the thick fur.

It was so soft, warm like a blanket, and Steve could feel his big heart thump under his fingertips, faster than any human being.

While the blond made his hand rise and fall like a slow stroking motion, Bucky closed his mouth for a moment, gulping down some saliva before speaking again, the low rumble of a whine escaping into words. "I'm… uhm… tall as before. Only now I have four legs." the reply made Steve snort lightly. “Well, you _look_ bigger…!” replied as a matter of fact.

The two fell into silence, Steve rapt while he made his hand travel up Bucky’s canine neck, under his jaw where his fur started to grow shorter and blacker, then up on his head. Along his cheekbones. Under his still pale-green eyes.

Steve even examined Bucky’s now flabby lips, rising them to watch how his teeth met, upper canines bending back and outward and lower ones interlocking in his gums.

A lethal jigsaw puzzle that now smiled like a fool, keeping his mouth open and tongue lolling out.

Bucky’s tail decided that Steve petting him will be his new favorite thing in the world.

That tail’s owner wasn’t all that decided yet.

If dogs could blush, Bucky only thanked it was hidden under the fur.

“Uhm… l-lets find a way to get you shifted…”

☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★

HEEL!

Buchanan padded next to his handler, head tilted backwards to watch his hand, waiting for the next command.

STAY!

Buchanan planted his paws on the cement ground, eyes never stopping following the shape of his handler, Sergeant Barnes that walked few more feet away from him.

UNDER!

Buchanan bolted forward and positioned himself between the Sergeant’s legs, head again tilted back and muzzle upwards.  
Belly on the ground to be able to fit between the man’s knees.

SIT!

Buchanan reacted immediately and sat down, back straight and ears pointed forward as his handler left him there, watching for signs of a disobedient BioPet.

There were none.

STAND!

Buchanan stood on his paws again, while another human entered the room, fully donned in protective gear.

That was his first exam after eight years of lessons and training and Buchanan was in his shifted state, body still growing but with enough force to drag a small car.

Other BioPets were there with their handlers, now standing on a line with tails up in an attentive state.

Some were panting, some had their ears flat and unsure.

“Buchanan. Acquire target.” Sergeant Barnes ordered and Buchanan watched the ‘enemy’ position himself thirty feet from him.

The white Canine already had the pleasure of sinking his teeth in that protective layer of stuffing and metal, his maw almost salivating at the idea of bringing the ‘enemy’ down.

He liked to show his handler that he was able to do anything he was asked of, showing how much he worked to be that prepared.

The first time he bit into the stuffed suit, one of his teeth actually punctured through the thin alloy inside, hurting the instructor.

From that time, the Director of the Puppery made sure to double the stuffing and making the teachers wear chain-mail underneath… and Buchanan had to stay in Steve’s hug for at least ten minutes straight, afterwards, to forget how sorry he felt for the instructor.

Guilt tasted like blood, he thought that day.

Now, instead, Buchanan knew how much force he had to use. He was prepared. “Buchanan! Attack!” Barnes shouted and the white Canine sprinted.

Powerful muscles rippled underneath the fur, back arching as his paws pressed and slingshotted him forward. Like a white bullet, Buchanan flew above the concrete floor, pads secure and nails ticking madly on the ground.

The target was in front of him, one arm held above his chest in the pose they always used to help Canines have a good hold on the suit.

Fur stood up between his shoulder-blades when Buchanan opened his maw, haunches pumping him up and against the man, impacting his teeth against the slippery nylon fabric.

The white Canine spun around the instructor’s body before landing again with his hindlimbs.

Buchanan jerked his head left and right, rumbles escaping his throat while his eyes were fixed on the fabric inches away from his nose. When the man tried to bring a fake blade on him, Buchanan loosened his bite, falling down only to spring up again, sinking his pointy pearls in the other forearm.

Dog and instructor danced on the spot, the Canine on the attack while always trying to defend himself from potentially lethal counter-attacks.

“Target down!” Sergeant spoke again, suddenly, and Buchanan growled with his mouth full of fabric, the metal grinding against his canines and making his skull almost vibrate.

Backpaws finding grip on the concrete again, Buchanan hardened the muscles of his jaw and gave one, two violent tugs.

Like a castle of glass, the suited man fell, rolling on his back; Buchanan stood on him, forearm still between his jaws and shoulders arched. “Release.” Barnes barked and immediately the Canine backed down, watching his handler for more commands.

“Come.”

Trotting with tail held high, Buchanan reached his handler’s legs, sitting against the left one. “Good boy…” whispered the Sergeant, a small proud smile hidden under the mustaches.

Bucky smiled then, the typical dog smile that his handler always loved, and Barnes lowered to give a couple heavy-handed pats on Bucky’s side.

The pats resounded like a drum, skin and muscles stretched on his ribs. Not even the thick fur helped absorb the sound.

That was the last exercise for him, he only had to wait for the instructor to start undre— “RUMLOW! DOWN! DOWN!”.

The angry scream mixed with a fearful, hurt wail and immediately Bucky’s head snapped towards the other section of the room, closed off during exams to give the examined some privacy.

That was his first mistake of the day.

Without even hearing his handler’s voice saying him to stay, Bucky darted towards the heavy screens partitioning the room, skidding around it to find one handler, one shifted Canine and one non-shifted.

The second mistake of that day, for Bucky, was to recognize the blond shade of a tail well-tucked between slightly longer legs.

“RUMLOW, SIT! DOWN!”

The shifted, dark-furred German Shepherd was snapping and biting at Steve, growls shifting into rabid barks.

No human would understand, but the hackles on Bucky’s shoulders and back rose as he heard the Canine’s words. “How DARE you challenge me?? You little shit…! I wanna see you all tall and mighty without your fucking paws attached!”.

Steve was trying to crawl back on his back, holding his right arm to his chest.

The third mistake of his exam day happened when Bucky sniffed blood in the air.

Like the point of an arrow, Bucky rushed forward to reach Steve’s prone figure, planting paws around him in a protective, aggressive stance. “BACK. OFF!” Bucky growled, a sound that would fit a demon more than a dog, his whole body arching and shifting to appear larger.

Rumlow seemed surprised for a moment, before starting growling again, focusing his anger on the newcomer. “You puppies need to learn some respect!” a sharp snarl came from the sable-colored Canine, chocolate and charcoal drowning the brownish color typical of a German Shepherd.

The two Canines stood motionless, aggressive and dominant “Buchanan! Stand down boy.” the Sergeant ordered as soon as he jogged around the partition, Rumlow’s handler busy yanking his Dog’s collar, visibly in distress.

After all, Rumlow was a fully-grown BioPet, reaching a standing height of five feet eight.

Bucky didn’t move, muscles taut and ready to contract into attacks, ignoring the still raging older Dog.

He was no more a puppy, scared of a couple of bites. He was sixteen human years and his body was almost at the peak of its growth.

The only sound during that stand-off was a small peep coming from a the thicket of Bucky’s belly fur. “You were the disrespectful one…” Steve spoke softly but with determination.

The two Canines shifted eyes on Steve, the fourteen years old Pup that was bleeding, but watching Rumlow as if that alone could scare the bigger Dog off. “You were bullying the others…” Steve inched away from underneath Bucky’s tall presence, watching now Rumlow in the eye. “And you call yourself the Alpha of the pack?”.

He couldn’t believe it… Bucky was completely befuddled.

How.

HOW such a small Pet could hold so much idiocy in one tiny little body??

Rumlow growled, hackles frazzled up and ears tethered towards the smaller duo while his pupils were reduced like pinpricks.

Without a noise if not for animalistic snarls and roars, the German Shepherd launched forward with the clear intent of sinking his teeth into Steve’s throat.

Instead, his mouth impacted against Bucky’s shoulder, arched forward to protect the young boy between his paws.

Quick as lightning, Bucky turned his head and managed to snatch at Rumlow’s neck, pushing him to the side, following shortly behind.

Both fell down only to roll on their back and up again, fighting to get the upper hand, to dominate the other Dog.

“RUMLOW STOP!! SECURITY!!”

“BUCHANAN, DOWN!”

Rumlow was on the attack, ignoring if his teeth punctured the white Canine’s skin or not, making as much damage as possible to the younger.

“THE ZAPPER!! QUICKLY!!”

Humans were in a rustle, while the others BioPets present cowered in fear and anxiety, watching two big canine confront each other.

All but Steve, that was still in the eye of the furry cyclone, azure eyes watching the majestic movement of Bucky above him, body jumping away to attack only to circle back to stand above the blond.

Blood trickled down one of his front legs, seeping through white fur and onto the concrete, but Bucky remained on the defense.

Back and forth, the white Canine above the blond bit at Rumlow’s muzzle when he came from the front, to his ears and shoulders when the German Shepherd tried to flank the two, padding and scratching at the concrete.

The sound of snarls was echoing in the room, handlers standing with their blood frozen in their veins, Sergeant Barnes seeing his Canine in his protective stance for the first time in ten years.

_TACK-TACK-TACK_

Steve heard the sharp pulse of electricity frizzing through the air. Angry growls became yowls of pain, Rumlow falling on his back and seizing with his mouth biting at nothing, white sparks coming directly from the black collar around his neck.

Bucky felt the electricity too, of course he could, making his fur stand on its end and boiling his organs from the inside-out.

Security ran towards the two feral Dogs, their fingers wrapped around small remotes, but while one of them reached to drag an unconscious Rumlow away, the other pointed the remote again towards Bucky, upping the voltage.

The white Canine didn’t stand down nor did he attack, body twitching but nails still sinking into the concrete, closed throat still emitting low-pitched growls.

His eyes were as big as pinheads, challenging the guard watching him in the eyes, like ever Canine would do.

Sergeant Barnes walked quickly towards Bucky and Steve, with the clear intention of helping his Dog, but one hand pushed him in the chest, stopping the military man to make another step. “The Dog is feral, mister, stand back.” the security guard watched how Bucky still was standing on his legs, his whole body now covering Steve’s.

“No, he’s not. Buchanan, down. He’s fine.” Sergeant Barnes’ voice came up slow and commanding, but somewhat sweet.

Like that, the white-furred body slumped down, haunches on the ground but front limbs still contracted and unyielding.

Not for his choice, his muscles contracted and wretched by the constant shocks coming from the collar. “Oh for God’s sake, boy, give me that whatchamacallit!” Barnes snatched the remote from the still diffident guard, fumbling with it for a few seconds before finding the OFF button.

As soon as the military man pressed it, Bucky exhaled a hot breath before falling on his side, neck still up and legs coiled around Steve’s form.

Steve still shocked form. “You can go now, thank you.” the Sergeant huffed, the security guard not even bothered by the tone. The officer rounded the corner of the screens and walked towards the guardroom. “You two are in a lot of troubles, boys.” Barnes spoke as he walked further near the two, but the blond Pup only had eyes for Bucky.

For his blood-soaked coat, his eyes closed in pain and his rapid breath. “…Sorry.” Steve peeped and Bucky chuffed. “Punk.”


	5. Chapter 5

“I understand… yes, yes Director. Thank you.”

Erskine’s voice was soft but serious behind Steve’s bedroom door.

The blond Canine was sitting alone on his bed, in the shade of the closed blinds. Looking down at his forearm, bandaged and a little swollen, Steve sighed heavily.

He didn’t know what had happened, that day, in his head. He was trying to shift like everyone else in his class, while Bucky’s class was having its exam on the other side of the partition.

Their instructor, Mr. Sitwell, and his BioPet Rumlow were making rounds among the students. The hairless human was talking with his mellifluous tone to one of the Puppies, encouraging them to ‘just let it go’ about the nervousness they were showing.

Rumlow, instead, was trotting with chest puffed out, ears forward and tail high. The German Shepherd looked down at each and every one of the Pups, laughing a snarl when some whined and recoiled away from his dominant stance.

“C’mon you pussies! Focus! I wanna see those shifts by the end of the day!” Rumlow had barked, Sitwell eyeing him but continuing to walk, ignoring the now whimpers and shivers of the smaller Puppies.

Steve was trying to ignore all the harsh words, the pressure in his chest and at the back of his head when Rumlow barked loudly at one of the youngest. Steve’s heart cringed when the little Puppy balled up with her tail tucked between her legs.

Focus, he said to himself, ignore all the rest…

But Rumlow snapped at the same young Puppy, closing his teeth shy of the Puppy’s ear, making her jerk away, cowering. “We don’t have all day here! You waste of flesh and fur…” the German Shepherd growled, a low rumble that Steve could feel run up his back and sink between his shoulder-blades.

Something surged inside his chest, a heat that pounded in his whole body with each thump of his heart, blood sizzling with anger, with possessiveness.

Steve _hated_ the Canine with a passion, for his egocentricity and for the roughness he used as a common way to teach.

And it showed when Steve walked up to the young Puppy, putting his slender, still growing body between the younger and Rumlow.

Steve had his tail held high and rigid behind him, ears tilted forward. He didn’t even knew his upper lip curled up on its own, showing the Canine Instructor his teeth. “You have problems, pipsqueak?” Rumlow had snarled at him, hackles starting to puff up in response of the challenge.

That’s where all went down. When Steve opened his mouth, rolled his tongue on his teeth and then rumbled back: “Yes, with you.”.

“Steven?” Erskine knocked at the door, yanking him from the memory. “I’m coming in.” he added before opening it, watching the blond sitting on his bed, tail abandoned on the covers and ears lowered at the sides of his head.

Steve didn't have the courage to look up into his Grandpa's face as he walked closer, so he kept his head bowed low between his shoulders.

The blond Canine felt the man sit near him on the mattress but didn’t move, waiting for his guardian to ground him for probably the rest of his life.

Instead, the old man sighed gently, moving one hand to lay it on the back of Steve's nape.

Slowly, tenderly, Erskine patted his golden hair, smoothing it down where it was all ruffled. "If I didn't know who raised you, I could think you're only a troublemaker…" his Grandpa said with his soft-spoken tone, eyes crinkled with a sad smile.

Steve tensed a little, before relaxing under Erskine's long and warm caress, soft and wrinkly palm going along the short expanses of his shoulders. Was he a troublemaker? "I'm sorry Grandpa…" "I don't want apologies, Steven,“ Erskine stopped his low whine. ”I just want to understand. What happened?".

Tail slowly starting to move left and right on the mattress, Steve finally managed to watch his guardian in the face, eyes slightly damp for the remorse gnawing at his chest. "I don't know what happened, Grandpa…!" he admitted, confusedly. "One moment I was trying to shift… A-and the next I felt like molten steel in my chest… It hurt so bad… It hurt seeing the Pups being afraid and all shaky. I was so angry at Rumlow for being so harsh with them…" Steve managed to take a mouthful of air when he heard Erskine sigh.

A good-natured heave of lungs, throaty and gentle for the most part. "Steven, you were showing the first signs of a dominant behavior. Mr. Barnes told me so.“ his Grandpa explained. ”He has more experience with BioPets before me, so I trust his words…" Erskine's smile faded a little around the edges, face turning to watch at Steve's. "Did you want to hurt Rumlow? You felt the need to bite him for being severe?".

That was a test, Steve thought, his Grandpa worrying that his anger would seep and merge and evolve into something worse than a dominant stance.

Steve shook his head, holding instinctively his wounded arm to his chest. "I hate him…" a whisper, disgust ebbed into the words for a couple of seconds. "But I didn’t want to bite him… I just wanted him to stop bullying my classmate! I wanted to stop seeing her so scared, she's one of the youngest Puppies and she can't shift well." Steve whined a little, sadness mixing with memories in his head.

Little Wanda was always so shy and secluded; her fur red as a sunset, silky smooth and floppy, long ears.

Steve once noticed she had her hands covered in little bite wounds and when the blond asked about them, little Wanda said she bit herself because it helped focus.

Later Bucky said to him that self-biting was a sign of distress, in dogs.

Steve couldn’t stomach little Wanda harm herself that or in any other way. “Do you think that Puppy is someone you want to protect? That’s why you made all that ruckus?” Erskine asked again, but his face was now eased in a small, genuine smile.

“I’m the oldest of the class and it’s my… duty, to protect them. As a classmate… I’m the only one that ever said something to Rumlow.” Steve inflated his chest a little while explaining, putting up a determined expression.

The only reply that came after that was a long, soft laugh, then a pat on Steve’s head “You really are a good boy.” Erskine joked, watching a golden tail starting to thump on the bed faster, faster.

☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★

Steve became bored again, the Director of their nearest Puppery suspending him from taking lessons again.

The blond Canine passed one month wandering around his room, poking at his toys and huffing while turning pages of books already memorized.

Erskine tried to engage his high-energy Canine with puzzles and riddles, but Steve didn’t miss mental gymnastics… Steve missed Bucky.

Missed rough-playing with him, rolling on thick carpets to be the ‘dominant’ one. Softly tugging ears, biting tails until both of them looked like they sprouted enormous mustaches.

Steve missed the laughs and even the long, sad talks about everything they couldn’t do or have.

Bucky’s favorite subject was his mother.

The white Canine always spoke for hours on end about his ‘Ma’ and how she looked like and what she did for him. Winnie was a pure-breed Wolf, one of few that the Military had in their branches, but instead of being harsh or severe, Winnie was a real honey.

“If I could present her to you, she would love you to bits! She always had a soft spot for small Puppies.” he chuckled once.

Bucky never spoke about his father and Steve could sense the lack of information about him was due to a lack of presence, more than anything.

Steve instead spoke about his Grandpa -as always- and about one of his friend. A woman called Peggy that looked like she had steel in her veins, but chocolate in her eyes.

In all his fourteen years of life, Steve never felt so empty.

Emptiness that he tried to fill with long, exhausting sighs while sitting upside-down on the couch, eyes fixed on the tv but not focused on it.

Erskine walked past, chuffed a little laugh only to shake his head. “If you stay like that, you’ll get a headache, Steven. Sit properly.” the old man warned him, but Steve only mmhm-ed at him without moving.

He missed Bucky so much he didn’t even noticed the feeling was more than simple friendship.

Because that was what Steve always felt near Bucky; how could you differentiate friendship from love, if one of them is labeled as the other?

☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★

At the cusp of his fifteenth birthday, Erskine took Steve to the nearest park.

The blond Canine had worn his leash halfheartedly around his body, his Grandpa stating that the laws were there for a reason, as stupid as they were. “If it could be my choice, sweetheart, you would run free everywhere we go.” Erskine always said to him.

That didn’t cheer Steve up.

Erskine sighed slightly, a strange heaviness lodging itself in his chest. “Are you ok?” Steve asked as he turned, watching his Grandpa taking a couple of deeper breaths. “I’m fine, don’t worry.” Erskine replied with a smile; he thought nothing of it, probably was only one of the thousand ailments that came with old age.

After all, they were walking in warm weather and it was particularly humid that day.

Erskine pushed the feeling aside and walked near Steve along the dirt path, watching with a proud look how much the BioPet had grown.

He managed to get taller than him and if Steve wanted he could easily break from the frail grip of his Grandpa… but he never did.

Steve would never run away from him.

That little though gave the man an idea.

Erskine stopped as they reached a bench. He looked around to see if there was any kind of park security, then swiftly unclasped the leash from Steve’s new leather harness when he saw no one could see them. “Our little secret…?” the man chuckled, giving a little pat on Steve’s lower back. “Go, I’ll wait here.”

Seeing Steve wag at him was one of the joy of Abraham’s life, one of the last joys he had.

Steve celebrated his fifteenth birthday running all day in the empty park, climb up some trees only to jump down again, rolling in the grass.

All under the tired but happy gaze of his sitting Grandpa.

☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★

“We can go, but you have to wear the muzzle when we’re out, you know the rul–”

“Yes! I-I mean, yessir!”

“Good boy.”

☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★

It was hot, a really, really hot morning and Steve moaned in frustration.

He was plastered belly-down on his bed like a piece of butter on a pile of scalding pancakes, melting away in the heatwave.

Covers were strewn all over one side of the bed, hanging on for dear life to the mattress and not an inch of them touching Steve’s sweaty skin.

He felt hotter and hotter, but it wasn’t any kind of fever. Erskine told him that, apparently, he didn’t stop growing: his legs became more stable, his shoulders widened while his waist remained small, but stronger.

Even his butt leavened like a pair of nice, round buns.

He still didn’t have a lot of muscles, but the frame of his body surely felt less twinky and more manly.

At least, for a fifteen-years-old teenager.

“Steven, wake up, it’s late!” Erskine voice came from downstairs and the blond groaned even more, letting one arm fall off the bed, but nothing else.

He was only in his dark-blue briefs, patterned with stars and full of his own golden fur.

Steve felt groggy not only for the warmth that seemed to encompass him with suffocating hands, but also because in the last month didn’t stop having really, really strange dreams.

Weird dreams where he was kissing people. Always white fur on their ears and tail, always laughing.

That night he had the weirdest one and before it ended Steve woke up with a raging boner in between his legs. Two excruciatingly long solo-sessions and one cold shower later, Steve finally relieved himself from that impasse, falling asleep one hour and a half before Erskine’s wake-up call.

It was tiring, all that stamina he got growing up, and being always alone in his house didn’t help. What a bored teenager could do to pass time, if not palming himself thinking about–

“Steven! Come on lazybones, there are guests!” his Grandpa’s voice was nearer the door now, knuckles giving a quick rap on it.

 _“My bone is everything but lazy recently, Gran.”_ Steve though as he rolled on his side and then on his back, exhaling as he rubbed his palm on his face. “Comin’…!” replied with thick voice.

Guests oftentimes meant Peggy and Peggy meant dressing up somewhat decently because she was a proper Englishwoman and she couldn’t stand seeing Steve looking like a hobo.

“You are a miracle, Steve. Be proud of it.” she always said, sometimes with a little sad smile, sometimes with a determined look in her brown eyes.

So, slowly, Steve slid off the bed and begrudgingly reached for his wardrobe, opening one squeaky door. He fished out a white t-shirt and a pair of light-brown slacks, leaving his feet naked so he could steam off some of the heat through the pads on his feet.

One trip of the en-suite bathroom later, Steve brushed his tail (“Keep yourself in order Steve, don’t make your Grandpa pick up your fur at your age!” Peggy would tell him otherwise) and gave a little ruffle to his short hair, lazily scratching at the back of one ears for good measure.

The only thing that really loved about the abrupt maturing of his body were his ears, finally standing upright, as if his head grew under them, giving those fluffy triangles more space to sit on.

Steve practiced a soft smile in the mirror, so Peggy wouldn’t ask him why he looked so dejected today, then headed outside of his room.

His very messy, very muffling-hot room.

With soft thump-thump sounds, Steve stomped down the stairs, ears and tail relaxed while heading towards the kitchen… only to violently stop on his tracks.

There was a new scent in his home that he didn’t felt on the tip of his tongue for at least a year now.

Fresh snow, tangy resin, woody pines.

“Stevie?”

The small, surprised whine came from the kitchen, where Erskine was sitting down at the table with one male human and another Canine.

A white-furred Canine that looked at him with the most wonderful smile he could see.

“Buck–!”

Steve was properly assaulted by Bucky’s embrace, the older squeezing the living breath out of him.

Bucky had become more muscular, Steve noticed as he hugged him back still dazed. His body was now slightly shorter than his own, but his frame was strong, sinewy and agile at the same moment.

His hair longer, his fur still short around the now pinkish, old scars on his ears.

Steve opened his lips while inhaling Bucky’s refreshing scent, closing his eyes as he nuzzled his face deep into the other’s hair.

The white Canine squeezed Steve even more, tail bursting with happiness while he brushed the side of his face against Steve’s jaw, as if he could meld himself into the bigger body.

Both of them were without words, their handlers chuckling at the sight, and when Bucky disengaged from the hug his face went from innocently happy to utterly confused.

“I thought you were smaller.” that was the very first sentence Bucky said to him.

Steve laughed, ears slightly bowed at the sides of his head while a little blush of happiness was tinting his face pink. “I didn’t finish growing, I s’pose.” the reply came natural, as if eighteen months of distance didn’t even put a dent into an entire childhood.

Bucky snorted and pushed Steve’s shoulder and the blond didn’t even budge. “It will be so funny now, fake-fighting!” the raven chuckled “finally I’ll not be worried about breaking a bone or two!”.

“Oh fluff off!”

“Did you just say ‘fluff’? What are you, six?”

“I don’t swear in front of guests. I’m a well-educated Pet, y’know??”

The banter started between the two like they were alone and Erskine laughed, while mr. Barnes shook his head with an amused smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for taking so long publishing chapters TTvTT);;  
> As sacrifice for obtaining y'all forgiveness, next chapter will have some _meat_ on them bones =w=  
> Meanwhile I'll leave you with a document I recently stole from Hydra's archives, about our good boi Steeb uwu)
> 
> [ ](https://sta.sh/0r5ccjvrv7q)

**Author's Note:**

> Ok this was something that I needed to do, because I'm stuck with Stucky fics lately and read a lot of REALLY good ones and I HAD to write something like this!
> 
> Thank you for reading, every kudos and comment is dear to me like my firstborn son <3


End file.
